


running in the dark to find east of eden

by veneziacandle



Category: Count of Monte Cristo (2002), Le Comte de Monte-Cristo | Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Blending, Family Drama, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Getting over unrequited love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Bonding, Slow To Update, Unrequited Love, and bc i also have issues w/ how she was handled in canon decided to write this on a whim, i got sick of haydée getting left out of movie adaptations so i put her in 2002
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veneziacandle/pseuds/veneziacandle
Summary: In which Haydée, waiting in Rome for the Count to call for her regarding his mission in Paris, finds out that all is not lost in her homeland...and decides to make a break for freedom.
Relationships: Edmond Dantes & Haydée, Edmond Dantès/Mercédès Mondego, Haydée & Original Female Characters, Haydée & Original Male Characters, one-sided Edmond Dantès/Haydée
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	running in the dark to find east of eden

**Author's Note:**

> hihi! i deleted this work several months ago while purging this account, and happened to stumble across the first chapter while poking around in my google drive, and decided to start it up again. basically: **this story is a blend of canon from the original book and the 2002 movie, as well as the actual history of haydée's family + the area of the world they're from, but happier than it actually turned out b/c she deserves better.** the title of the fic is from zella day's "east of eden". hope you like it!

As much as Haydée thoroughly enjoys the opera, the charms of Don Giovanni are beginning to slowly wane.

It is not as though the performance is necessarily dull. Rather, there are only so many times one can watch the same story over and over again before it begins to grow tedious. She’s sure she could probably recite this entire season’s repertoire off the top of her head by now—vocals notwithstanding. 

_...then too, when alone, I can call forth mighty pictures of the past, see vast horizons bounded only by the towering mountains of Pindus and Olympus. Oh, believe me, that when three great passions, such as sorrow, love, and gratitude fill the heart, ennui can find no place. _

She wishes she could go back to the day he left for Paris and throttle herself. Certainly, she had accounted for ennui, but what of loneliness? Nothing but hazy memories of a land she only knew through a child’s eyes, books and music which she had already exhausted, and fellow servants who were polite but distant to keep her company?

_ I don’t wish to see anybody but you. _

Her eyes slowly drift from the stage, taking in the people below. Thankfully, most people aren’t looking at her—they’ve gotten used to her presence, she supposes. Except for one.

_ I have never seen anyone I preferred to you, and I have never loved anyone but you and my father. _

He is still a young man, perhaps four or five years her senior, with chestnut hair growing in well-maintained waves atop his head and high cheekbones. Just like everyone else at the opera aside from her, he sports Western-style formal clothing.  _ He must be some rake, or some wide-eyed, simple-minded dreamy heir, _ the princess supposes.  _ Like that boy the Count had over the morning after Carnivale, the one who looked so much like him. _

Then, an anomaly: his bright blue eyes gain some fiery spark when he notices he has her attention, a natural grin spreading across his face, and then—right in the middle of all of his fellow Western peers, waves at her (being careful to keep his fingers close together, she notes). It is no small wave of the hand either; rather, he practically moves his whole arm, as if they are standing on opposite ends of some wild grassy plain.

_ He waves as though he knows me. _

A beat passes. Instinctively, her eyes dart all around the box, only to remember she is alone.  _ He would not count this as a betrayal, yes? He had wanted me to go out and see people in the West, and to see...and be seen...and it would be rude... _

Haydée then proceeds to lean out of the box, making sure he is still looking at her, before timidly managing to raise her right hand and offer a small, courteous wave and a smile which she figures looks much more nervous than she would like. She only manages to catch a glimpse of his friends' jaws dropping open before she reels back into her box seat as though pulled by a fisherman's line. Pointedly, then, the princess elects to watch the rest of Don Giovanni's ball as though it is the most fascinating thing she has or will ever see in her entire life. Her heart only begins to slow its rapid, nervous palpitations when the act ends and the audience bursts into applause. With a sigh, she leans back into the velvet sofa, eyes gazing listlessly at the ceiling of the box.

Then, in her mother tongue: "Is my lady enjoying the performance?"

She practically jumps from her seat. The young man from below leans against the right wall of the box, about 2 meters behind her. 

"You...why, your accent, you are from Epirus!"

He raises both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I apologize for startling you so, my lady, on impulse I thought—"

"Oh, no!" Haydée shakes her head violently, quickly approaching him. "Sir, you are most welcome—oh, it has been far too long since I have been able to converse in my mother tongue, and with someone from my own region on top of all that." 

He blinks down at her, evidently surprised by her warmth, something which the lady herself shares, and yet the reason as to why is clear as day to her. With a few Greek words from lips, there is a calling that runs far deeper than her loyalty as a slave, even to a man as wonderful as the Count—the call of  _ home, _ even though she has not physically seen it in so many years.

“I thank you for your kindness, my lady,” the young man replies, a smile beginning to grow on his face.  _ Quietly confident.  _ “Please, forgive me for my impulsive behavior. I am Athanasios Lécuyer.”

She puts a hand over her heart and gives a very slight bow. “A Greek mother and a French father, I presume? I am Haydée. Just Haydée.” She turns from him and starts back towards the front of the box. “Come, you may sit with me awhile, if you please.”

Athanasios raises an eyebrow as he follows behind. “My lady’s mind is sharp—my mother is from Parga, my father from Bordeaux. You do not wish to be addressed as ‘Countess’?”

It isn’t until they’re both seated on the small sofa does the question finally register, and color rises in Haydée’s cheeks as she sputters out an “E-excuse me?”

He frowns. “You are the wife of the Count of Monte Cristo, yes?”

“Ah—” She shakes her head violently, nervous bouts of laughter escaping her. “N-no, sir, I am not his wife, though I understand why you would think so, but our relationship is nothing of the sort—”

“I understand completely.” He eyes the jewels on her neck, in her hair, on her hands and wrists, the tiniest of smirks appearing on his lips to convey the conclusion he’s reached:  _ mistress. _

“—for you see, I am actually his slave.”

Athanasios nods once, opening his mouth to say something else before suddenly he straightens up as if he were struck by lightning. A flurry of emotions cross his features, eventually setting on outrage. “His  _ slave?  _ How could you say that so  _ casually?”  _ he questions through grit teeth. She blinks in confusion. From what she’d observed, none of the other people who the Count had told of her role (that she knew about), regarded him any differently afterwards. Could it be that he thought she was part of a harem, in the depraved way that she’d come to learn many Westerners thought they were? Or did he assume he was one of the many cruel masters, who would beat her for the slightest error? Either way, protecting her master’s reputation in his absence now fell to her.

“Oh, sir, it’s nothing like you think! He has never mistreated me, has always let me do as I please, and always given me permission to leave should the unlikely situation arise. The truth is—”  _ Guard carefully the secret of your birth.  _ “—I was born in Ioannina in 1817, and in the chaos resulting from the Sultan’s army invading to execute Ali Pasha, my father was killed, and my mother and I were captured and taken to Istanbul as slaves, though I lost her on the way. Ten years later, the Count bought me, and I have stayed happily at his side ever since, and will continue to do so for as long as he wishes me there. I so deeply love the life he has made so sweet for me, and I would be most sorry if he sent me away.”

White-knuckled and red-faced, her companion takes a few deep breaths. “Istanbul, God...I mean, considering that he is not...no, no.”  _ Considering that he is not here right now,  _ she knows he means to say. “If you are pleased with your arrangement, I have nothing to say about it, and I beg your forgiveness for my outburst had it offended you. Simply...well, you know how much our dear country has bled recently. To see a countryman in a situation such as yours is...upsettingly disheartening, to say the least.”

She’s vaguely compelled to take his hand to calm him down, but elects not to. She doesn’t even  _ want  _ to know how many people are looking at them right now— _ Monte Cristo’s Greek lady actually talking to someone.  _ “I understand, and you need not apologize. So, er…” The princess gulps, eyes darting uselessly towards the back of the box. “W-what brings you, a free man, to Rome from our dear homeland?”

A smile breaks across his face, and he moves a hand to cover his eyes as he laughs lightly.  _ He practically looks like a painting.  _ “And to think people have been afraid to approach you all this time...hm. I’ll have you guess. Before you do—it isn’t why most of these people are. Go on, what do you think?” he asks, the hand moving to cover his mouth, though she can tell the smile is still on his face by the shine in his eyes.

_ Don’t call your countryman a rake. Or stupid.  _ “Hmm...you came here to serve as some Roman sculptor’s model, I imagine,” she deadpans, completely sincere. “Plucked right from our homeland and brought to give a face to a sculpture of Adonis or Apollo that’ll be revered for generations. What else could it be?”

Athanasios blinks at her for several long moments as the hand falls from his mouth, all cool radiance from mere minutes ago washed away as if it was never there in the first place; now replaced with a rising color in his cheeks and a sudden inability to form coherent words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. It takes all of Haydée’s self-control not to laugh at him.  _ Ah, how proud the master would be! _

“You...you’re kind, but m-my father is a merchant, based in Brindisi,” he eventually manages. “He has business in Rome, which he sent me to take care of, and I have friends here too, that I wanted to see, s-so…”

She shrugs. “A loss for the arts, then.”

He makes a choking noise before coughing and straightening up. “What about you? Monte Cristo is still in Paris, as far as I know.”

Her eyes light up. “You met him? And, well—he told me he had some business to take care of, and that soon he would send for me. His principal house is here, and so here I remain.” She elects not to tell him that the conversation occurred almost four months ago.

“Oh yes. Well, not for long. I have seen him twice. I attended the party he threw at the beginning of the year at his Paris residence. You were not there?”

“No...did something happen?”

“I pity you, then! He arrived at his own party after all of the actual guests, in a  _ hot air balloon _ , of all things, with fireworks going off in the sky. Acrobats came out of it in midair and landed the damned thing for him, and after all that he simply looked out over the crowd and said ‘greetings’. I thought I was hallucinating.”

She nods, giggling slightly at the image. “That...sounds like him,” she replies, almost yearningly.  _ I should have been in the balloon with him. _

“I only introduced myself to him very briefly afterwards. The second time was at the 20th birthday party of this one Viscount—” He rolls his eyes, and she gets the distinct feeling that he’s about to unleash an inordinate amount of vitriol towards this poor Viscount, only for the music from the orchestra to suddenly reach their ears, indicating that the intermission was about to end. “—oh. I should be returning, you were so engrossed in the show towards the end of the act…” he murmurs, rising from the sofa. “Please excuse me...perhaps we can continue this another time?”

Haydée raises a hand, but does not touch him. “...must you go? I mean, if your friends do not mind...”

Athanasios blinks down at her. “Would...you rather I stay?”

She groans before slightly leaning closer to where he’s standing. “I have been here for every performance since the beginning of the season, almost always by myself. I can afford to miss half of one show with some decent company.”

In response, her new friend leans out over the box, sarcastically waves in the direction of where his friends were, and then plopping back down next to her and leaning in to speak more quietly, but loud enough for her to hear over the music.  _ How casual he is, as if he’s known me for years.  _ “Anyways, there I was at this stifling birthday party, praying for an earthquake to strike that damned house when the Count of Monte Cristo arrived…”

* * *

The next morning, Haydée’s taking an after-breakfast stroll in the courtyard when she hears two voices speaking in Italian at the front of the door.

“...the lady does not take visitors, sir, she never has,” says one of the stewards.

“Please, sir, I beg you,” comes the voice of Athanasios, his voice sounding notably more careful in Italian than in Greek, “tell her Athanasios from the opera wishes to see her. It will not take longer than a moment—”

“Good morning, you Pargan Adonis!” Haydée calls jokingly in their native tongue, waving at him from the entrance to the courtyard before breaking into a full-on sprint for the door. She can hear him loudly groan before hiding his face in his hands, meanwhile the steward is staring at her like she has grown three heads.

“Are you ever going to let up with that?” her fellow Greek asks through his hands as she approaches.

“Not as long as you keep reacting in such a way.”

He straightens back up and rolls his eyes, though there’s still color in his face. “I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the Capitolini today.”

She stares at him for a few brief moments, mouth automatically opening to politely refuse, but then comes another thought:  _ why not?  _ He had been perfectly cordial at the opera, even walking her back to the carriage before running off to rejoin his friends. And besides, the Count  _ had  _ encouraged her to meet and talk with people around her own age. Would he encourage this?

_ Visit, and be visited. _

“Give...give me half an hour to prepare,” she says, before turning back to the steward and switching to Italian. “Please, show this man to the table in the courtyard and provide him with anything he asks for. I will return from the museum in—what, four hours?”

* * *

It has been eight hours. Haydée is completely aware of how much time has passed, and for the first time in years, cannot bring herself to care. They had left the museum within four hours, as promised, but then Athanasios had taken it upon himself to take her to dine in a small yet exquisite restaurant tucked away in some alleyway, and then they had wandered around the city simply chattering away, eventually ending up sitting at a table on the balcony of the relatively small apartment he owned on a quiet street.

“What a charmed life you lead!” she hums, placing down the cup of tea. “I have never returned to Greece since I was taken, unfortunately. But I hope to return someday with the Count, when his business in France is finished. Perhaps the three of us could go together, or we could meet you there!”

Athanasios’s eyes cloud over slightly, but he nods and laughs like nothing has happened. “I think I would like that...” his voice trails off, and for a moment they sit in a comfortable quiet, watching the sun’s golden rays bathe the ancient city in its warmth. It’s broken a few minutes later, though, when he begins to suddenly hum a melody, which she notes he has done whenever silence falls between them.

“What’s that? You’ve been humming it all day.”

“Ah, just...” he shakes his head. “An old tune from our homeland. It has been stuck in my head since last night.” Then, an easy grin, and he jokingly points at her. “Our meeting must have inspired it. Now how shall I get to sleep?”

“How did the song go? Perhaps I know it?” she questions. Her new friend’s brow furrows as he taps out a tune on the table.

(There’s something somewhat calculating in his eyes that she cannot yet discern.)

“It has been some time since I heard it, but…” His blue eyes glaze over slightly as he begins to sing, loud enough for her to hear, but quietly enough so that no one else could:

“... _ I enter your garden, most beautiful… _

_ Where you picked roses and flowers each dawn. _

_ Maid, I beseech you in all modesty _

_ That my poor tongue may speak three... _ no, it’s not three...four?”

She leans forward to meet his gaze, hands on her chin. The melody strikes some vague chord within her memory, yet she cannot envision a scene to accompany it. Perhaps she had caught it in the streets, being carried in her mother’s arms.

“Two! It’s two.  _ That my poor tongue may speak two words to you. _

_ And she, who was a good and modest girl, _

_ Breaks a lemon bough and favors me with it. _

_ But I, for bitter grief, no flowers will see _

_ Save oleander, its bitter leaf to taste…” _

Here he drifts off, staring at Haydée intently. She herself is too caught up in trying to remember just where she had heard the tune before to realize for a few moments, but when she does, she frowns. “That is not the end.” A pause. “Is it?”

Athanasios keeps searching her face for something, before finally dropping his head and sighing. “No.” Then he stands, makes his way around the table, wraps his hands around her wrists, and pulls her to her feet.

“What—what are you doing?”

“Stimulating the memory,” he replies simply, before beginning to lead her around the small balcony in what she soon realized was a dance. It was clumsy and simple, like how a child would waltz. “I doubt anyone’s watching, if that is what you’re worried about. And if they are—well, you are the one who goes to the opera dripping in diamonds, I would be very surprised if you were not used to staring.”

_ “And, truly, the oleander is bitter indeed, _

_ Yet gaily adorned and lovely to view. _

_ Open the gates of death, unlock its doors _

_ That my dear, wretched soul may enter there...” _

Any awkwardness from before has faded, and the princess finds herself snickering lightly, straightening up, and actively following his lead. She last danced with a partner back before the Count had purchased her, and afterward, it was always by herself, and most of the times she would also be playing an instrument at the same time, else she was dancing to nothing... _ what of loneliness, indeed. _

_ “For those two eyes of yours a pair of arrows sped, _

_ Lady—” _

**_“—they struck my limbs and heart!”_ ** Haydée exclaims suddenly, bringing their informal little dance to a halt. Athanasios stares down at her with a thunderstruck expression, only for the largest smile she’s seen him wear to break out across his face. Then, carefully, together, ridiculously off-key:

_ “But tell me, light of my life, how long must I _

_ Restrain and rack my heart for you?” _

Another beat of silence, only for the two of them to burst into laughter. “Again, once more, please!” Haydée exclaims. Ah, what a traitor does desperation for contact make. Is not patience one of the greatest of virtues? Is it not her duty as the Count’s slave to wait until the end of time if need be? But she’s drawn away from her guilt by how instead of beginning the song again, Athanasios looks as though he might cry from happiness.

“You remember.”

“The song, yes, but what—”

He takes her hands and pulls away from her so that they’re both leaning back slightly, as if he’s going to spin them both around. “I left out part of the beginning. I enter your garden, _most beautiful_ _Hayd_ é _e_.”

She stares at him for a moment longer before it suddenly feels like she’s been hit so hard all of the air has left her lungs. For a second, Athanasios isn’t holding her hands anymore—well, it is him, but a much younger him, with missing front teeth and wild uncombed hair; behind him is not the Roman skyline, it’s whitewashed walls with flowers on vines creeping up them and three youths, one light-haired and Athanasios’s age, the other two dark-haired and older, all of their eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You asked to go around once more that time, too, because you thought the song was written for you. But that was when your mother saw us along with your brothers and promptly struck the fear of God unto us four boys for taking you out without asking her.”

“Y...you… _ ‘Nasios!  _ You are ‘Nasios! Salih’s playmate, so many years ago! _ ” _

“Yes,” her old friend breathes with relief, “yes, it is me, and you have no idea how glad I am to—Haydée, how pale and cold you have become! Why do you tremble so?”

“It...it is you,” she says stupidly, feeling hot tears begin to leave her eyes. “You from the land from which I was stolen—and you are the last one of our little group that day, surely, oh, God! My poor mother! My poor brothers!”

He releases one of her hands and instead uses it to support her shoulder, worry etched into his features as he begins to lead her inside. “I am not.”

Her ears are ringing as she breaks into a cold sweat. “What?”

“I am not the last one of our little group. Just as you are not the last breathing child of Ali Pasha Tepelena.”

She gags as though she is going to vomit, and the last thing she sees before blackness is the floor rushing to meet her face.

* * *

The world is moving as she wakes up, staring at what she eventually discerns to be the interior of a carriage. She hears someone exhale in relief above her, so she adjusts her position, only to jerk up and back when she finds Athanasios’s worried face above hers—evidently, she’s been lying down with her head on his thigh.  _ Any pride the Count would have had in me would be long gone now. _

“Just breathe,” her old friend instructs, holding up both his hands in a gesture of innocence. “We are in a cab, to the Count’s.”

Haydée only grunts in response, moving to sit up on the other side of the carriage seat, staring at her shoes. After what feels like an eternity, she speaks.

“Are they all alive?”

“Yes. I am still close with them.”

She wants to scream, to curse, to rip out someone’s heart with her bare hands and eat it, to sleep for a thousand years.

“I…” Athanasios speaks up again. “If you do not wish to speak to me again, I will respect that. I did not know you would react so violently, and I apologize…”

“No,” the princess interrupts, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face. “I am glad to know I am not the last. Thank you for telling me.”

“Then I am glad.” His voice has taken on a harder tone, and she looks up. His face is the most serious she’s ever seen him, but his eyes remain kind. “I have something of great urgency to discuss with you, though I do not think you are in the right condition at the moment. Are you doing anything tomorrow morning?”

_ Nothing but eating, drawing, dreaming, playing some instruments, and being alone in my room like always. What of loneliness? Everything of loneliness!  _ “Come for breakfast in the garden, at nine.”

He nods, hands her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. When the carriage stops at the Count’s manse, she takes it inside with her and he does not ask for it back.

* * *

The next morning she’s up an entire two hours before Athanasios is to arrive for breakfast. Not because she wants to—one of the servants had knocked on her door with a letter at seven, sealed with a familiar wax stamp she holds close to her heart. Unfortunately for her, the contents of the letter feel like they’re tearing said heart to shreds every time she reads it. To scream, to curse, to rip out someone’s heart with her bare hands and eat it, to sleep for a thousand years.

( Thirteen times. She reads it thirteen times within two hours ).

So when she hears someone whistling yesterday’s tune from a distance and growing closer— _ I enter your garden, most beautiful Haydée— _ she doesn’t even look up or say anything. Not even when he greets her and sits across from her at the small table.

“...something happened.” 

Haydée simply turns to face him and tosses the letter listlessly in his direction before putting her head down on the table. There are no tears, just this dull ache in her chest which she can feel dragging her downwards, as though it will drag her through the seat and into the ground. She would let it.

“...my lady, I…”

“I do not expect you to understand, and I do not blame you for it,” the princess says listlessly, green eyes dull. “All that is to be known is because of what is written in those pages, I now have no reasons to live.”

"What do you mean by no reasons to live?"

She laughs weakly, slouching in her seat, one hand thrown over her eyes, the other curled into a fist on the table. "In the beginning, my first master was not the Count—I was a handmaiden in service to the Imperial family. When they took me into the palace, and I grew accustomed to my place by the side of the  _ başkadın, _ I began to understand if I stayed obedient, yet consistently aware of my surroundings and my station, I could rise very far. My influence could grow. And then when the young _ şehzade _ and I began to form some kind of...bond, years later, I realized that should I continue to expand on this bond, I could become one of the most powerful women in the empire—no, the world, and any sons of mine would be kings and princes. With that influence, I just may be able to reach across the European continent and wrap my hands around the traitor's throat and choke the life from him, bury any clean legacy he may wish to leave behind. A silly dream, to be sure, but not out of reach. Then the Count took me from there. He spoke kindly and softly, but of a cruelly sweet vengeance that would be mine: the traitor, humiliated among his peers, shunned by his countrymen, left with nothing, and all by my hands, by my testimony. The dream was closer to reality than ever before. I have cultivated this hope for over a decade better than any of the roses which surround us now. As it grew, so did my will to make it through the degradation of slavery, of having my identity erased, of not seeing my home again, all for the chance to have that one brief shining moment where I could look the traitor in the eye and he would know I have won. My mother won. My brothers won. My father won. And with one thrust of a sword, the Count has uprooted that dream and left no seeds. What is there to look forward to now? What shall keep me living?"

Athanasios is silent. Haydée then feels warm fingers slowly take ahold of her clenched fist.

“Do you remember what you had said to me in his box two nights ago?”

“Only two nights—!”

“You said how deeply you love the life he has made so sweet for you. Why would you give that up?”

“He—” She gestures limply at the letter. “—he has a wife now. And a son, my age that apparently he did not know about until several months ago. ‘Nasios, I know both you and my master to be Christian men, and do not keep harems, but oh—surely you can have some idea of what it is like to be the  _ other _ one, whether anything actually happened or not. And I do not know these people, the son may be cruel behind closed doors, as may the wife, and I—selfish as it may seem, since Istanbul, I have grown accustomed to not having to share attentions—”

Athanasios inhales deeply, and Haydée raises her head. She can read the message on her new friend’s face as clear as the day.

_ I know, and you are in love with him.  _

His grip wavers on her hand as if he is unsure whether to let it go or hold it tighter. 

“My lady, Haydée, there is something you must know. I had hoped to tell you when you were in a more stable condition, but it is most apparent that I tell you now.”

“Speak it then—oh God, I doubt much could shock me more!”

“Your brothers not only live, but they are the true reason as to why I went to Paris and why I came to you that night at the opera. They sent me here to collect you.”

She stares at him, heart pounding. A shaking, deep breath. “If you are lying, I swear—”

“I do not lie! Take the knife from your hip and I will swear it in blood, if it will please you. Here—” with his other hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter, sealed in wax. “An official letter, from your eldest brother. Ahmet Muhtar Pasha. I was supposed to present it to your master had he been here and demanded as to why I had spoken to you.”

The seal: she’s seen it before, carved into stone on the walls of her father’s palace. With shaking fingers, she tears it open to read:

_ I, Ahmet Muhtar Pasha of Ioannina, son of Ali Pasha of Ioannina and his first wife Emine, with the power granted to me by the Sublime Porte, request the immediate surrender of my only sister Haydée Tepelena into the custody of Athanasios Lécuyer to return to Epirus. I have provided Lécuyer with an adequate sum for her should you demand it. Failure to comply will result in more drastic measures.  _

She looks back up at him, eyes wide. “Muhtar has Ioannina? No, wait,  _ Sultan Abdulmejid _ knows about this little mission?”

“Firstly, yes, he shares it with Veli, secondly, no. But what is your Count going to do about it, go all the way to Istanbul and check with him personally?”

“Honestly, that is not beyond him. Though...there is the chance that the Sultan would lend credence to the letter if he did.”

“And why on Earth would he do that?”

“Well, like I told you, we did have some sort of bond.” A pause, and Haydée laughs somewhat nervously. “At least, he was deferential to me compared to the other girls. It’s been five years, though. I doubt he remembers me.”

“Then I would not take the risk.” He swallows thickly, eyes darting around the garden to make sure they were not being observed before leaning closer across the table and gesturing for her to do the same, which she does. “By this time next week, I should be in Brindisi. In two weeks, I’ll be on a boat with my parents to Vlorë, a city on the Albanian coast. The city and the surrounding towns are under the jurisdiction of Salih. They have made him Pasha. From there, we will be going to Parga, a day from Ioannina.” He swallows once more, and Haydée feels her own throat go dry. “Do you want to join me?”

_ Yes!  _ Some part of her shrieks out, the part which invited Athanasios to sit with her at the opera, the part which agreed to spend the entirety of yesterday with him. The disloyal part. “I...I cannot. I cannot betray the Count like that. Even...even though things will never be the same…he still owns me.”

“Haydée, you said so yourself he has always had given you free rein to do what you wanted, and told you that you could always leave.”

“I mean, yes, but…” The words catch in her throat. “I…I do not know anything else. This has been my life for fifteen years. I do not belong to myself.”

“Yes, you do know other things. You remembered me, you remembered the song. You remember your family. You know freedom and love from those days, even though they happened many years ago. Even in the Imperial Harem, you said you had a bond with the prince. You know friendship from those days, too.”

“I…”

“Don’t you miss your brothers? Don’t you miss your home?”

“I do! I do every day. But how is that any way to repay the kindness he has shown me?”

“Remember what your brother ended the note on?  _ Failure to comply will result in more drastic measures. _ Now, I am not exactly sure what he means by that, but personally, I believe that means if I return empty-handed, he’ll send someone else after you. Someone less...willing to bargain. Or multiple people. It is not beyond him. Preventing harm to come to the Count and his family through these  _ drastic measures  _ is one surefire way to repay his kindness.”

“B-but...what if I write a letter to him that you can take back? Telling him I want...that I live a comfortable existence here, and he needn’t chase me further.”

“See, that would not be so bad. But how would he know that the note was  _ really _ penned by you? He last saw you as a toddler, and I presume you could not even write then, so he wouldn’t be able to verify that the handwriting is yours. For who’s to say that you never saw me at all, and the Count wrote the letter in your stead? Or that he forced you to write those words, or that he paid me off to not inquire further? Muhtar is not the type of man to put all of his trust in a piece of paper when he does not know the writer...and, I do not mean to offend, you’re a lovely girl, but I don’t think our relationship has progressed far enough that I am willing to be executed for you.”

“...Muhtar would do that? Even though you are Salih’s friend?”

“I do not know. But since you are his sister by blood and I am not, I would rather not take the risk.”

She visibly deflates. “Oh.”

He sighs. “Haydée. Consider: you come with me to Brindisi. You accompany my family and meet your family in Epirus. If you are unhappy with them, I will personally return you to the Count.” She does not miss the way his mouth slightly twitches in distaste bringing that up, but decides not to argue.

“You swear it?”

“On my friendship with Salih, yes.”

She swallows, then raises her head to check for any spies. Finding none, she returns to leaning across the table. “If...if I said yes, how would we get there?”

“On land, with horses and a small carriage. I have made the journey many times before. The most time it ought to take would be eight days, the minimum would be four. We would stay in small inns along the way. They are run by honest people who know me.”

“Must...if I said yes, must we leave so soon…? I do not even know when the Count will return...he just said ‘shortly’.”

Athanasios shakes his head. “The ship for Albania leaves in two weeks. I intend on leaving tomorrow morning. It is the only way I could make it in time so I may spend some time with my family and friends in Brindisi before catching the boat. The weather in the beginning of the summer is unpredictable, and the roads could be muddied, slowing the progress.”

She nods, clearing her throat. “Ah. So...I could not say goodbye.”

“You could always write a letter, explaining the whole situation and thanking him for all he has done for you. Leave it in your rooms for him to find. I...I know it is not the same as a true farewell, but if you are coming with me, it is the only option you have.”

_ Ingrate. You selfish, traitorous ingrate.  _ Haydée stares at him for what feels like eons, searching his face for something that would solidify a negative answer. Eventually, though, she instead reaches for the ivory and silver knife on her hip and places it on the table.

“What—what are you doing?”

“If I am to go with you,” she replies, unsheathing the blade and balancing the tip on the marble table in between them. “I will require you to promise me several things. And considering that this will be such a...drastic departure from normalcy for me, I will require you to promise me these things in the most extreme way we have available to us.”

Athanasios blinks at her for several moments, unprepared for the sudden authoritative tone in her voice. “I...I did not believe you would actually…”

“You can only blame yourself for giving me the idea, ‘Nasios. This knife of my father’s has not tasted blood in over a decade, and frankly, it was going to stay like that until you suggested using it to prove your truth.”

He swallows, then takes her free hand. “Tell me your demands.”

“Firstly, swear to me that you are indeed going to take me to Brindisi and then to Vlorë. Secondly, swear to me that my brothers being alive and in power is no cruel trick. Thirdly, swear to me that you will never abandon me during the entire duration of our little expedition; I will need to know where you are at all times. Fourthly, swear to me that if I am unhappy with the situation in Epirus that you will indeed personally return me to the custody of the Count of Monte Cristo  _ and  _ explain yourself to him. Fifthly, swear to me that at least until we drop anchor in Vlorë, you are to protect me from any and all danger. I know that my own abilities in that field are severely lacking, but I will do my best to guard you as well.”

His jaw is only  _ slightly _ hanging open, and she notes that his pupils are noticeably bigger than before. “...I…” he laughs slightly, looking away briefly before looking back at her. “I will swear, but I cannot tell if you are requesting these things of me or ordering them.”

She raises her eyebrows, moving her hand out from under his grip and opening it so that the palm is facing her. “A bit of both,” Haydée replies languidly, lightly slashing the dagger down across her palm before handing it to him pommel first. He takes it ( _ his hands shake, _ she muses) and slashes himself similarly, though she can see when he holds his hand up to offer it to her that it’s more crooked and quicker to bleed than hers.

“I swear that I do not lie about your family and where I intend to take you,” Athanasios promises somewhat breathily as she puts her hand against his. “I swear that you will always know where I am during the journey.” His fingers lace with hers and hold fast. “I swear that I will protect you, and I know and thank you for doing the same. I swear that if you say the word, I will take you back to the Count of Monte Cristo as soon as possible.”

She gulps. “Thank you.”

Another moment passes until Athanasios breaks it with: “You know, we could have just linked arms and drank wine together. That is another way of binding in blood, though it is more symbolic.”

“I believe you are too tall for us to do that without wasting the wine, and it is barely 10 in the morning. Far too early for alcohol.”

“But not too early to cut ourselves?”

“Willful Adonis!”

“Speaking of the time...would you mind, ah…” He jerks his head towards the door leading into the house, and Haydée feels the pangs of hunger overtaking her shock at the Count’s letter and what she has just agreed to do. “...and ask for bandages too, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> the song athanasios sings is a real song and was translated (read: bastardized, when you read the original lyrics in comparison) by byron at one point. you can find out about it here: https://www.ascsa.edu.gr/uploads/media/hesperia/146751.pdf


End file.
